Confidence Trick
by TheXGrayXLady
Summary: When confronted with what he's done, a young Cyrus knows that the only way out is to do what he does best. Lie.


**Notes:** I really enjoy the thought of Cyrus being a former con man and I feel like I had to do at least something with that. And this was fun to do.

**_Confidence Trick_**

The sandstone walls of the alley were still warm from the morning sun as they pressed into his back. Cyrus laughed nervously, put up his hands, and said in the sweetest tone he had at his disposal, "I don't know what you're talking about sir. I'm only a traveler, I just arrived in this city a few hours ago and I have never seen you before in my life. I cannot be who you are searching for."

"You may have changed your story, but a cheetah never changes its spots," the man said, shoving Cyrus into the wall again. "I would never forget a face like yours, not after you cheated me out of my money and my wife out of proper ring."

Ah. That's who this man was. A few weeks ago, he'd happened upon a couple of cheap iron and cut glass rings, painted them up and turned them for a not entirely satisfactory profit. It wasn't often he dealt in counterfeit goods, but if somebody couldn't tell gold paint from real gold or colored glass from a legitimate gem, that was not his problem. Except, of course, for the off chance his mark found him later, which hardly ever happened.

That was why he hated running jobs like those. The risk was never worth the pay out, they didn't even require any skill, just a stupid mark and he didn't get the same thrill from these schemes that he got from a well-played Samarkand Switch, or even a good shell game. But he'd owed people money and it was an easy way to pay off a debt.

"I don't understand, I would never do such a thing, I don't even know what you're talking about, you must be mistaking me for somebody else." He'd been wearing a hood and sat, hunched over, in a darkened corner of the market place. It wasn't much of a disguise, but it normally worked well enough for a petty swindle.

The hand that wasn't currently occupied pinning Cyrus to the wall formed into a fist. The stone dust around the man's shirt cuffs coupled with his strength led Cyrus to suspect that he was a mason of some sort. He wracked his brain to try to remember anything else about this man, but he couldn't remember much.

The snarl on the man's face made his moustache twitch in a manner that in any other situation, Cyrus would find hilarious. There wasn't enough time to convince him that he bore an unfortunate resemblance to some swindler in the market place or lay the ground work for the scumbag brother defense. What he would have to do next was horrific, but he had to make it to the north gate by three in order to work the next phase of a Traveling Bag Ploy.

"You're not fooling anybody boy. You can't hide from your crimes forever," the man, Cyrus was reasonably sure his name was Iqbal, said. If not for the fact that he was pressed for time, it must have been almost quarter past two now, he would appreciate the irony of that. It appeared that Iqbal had not been fortunate at all.

He just hat to take a moment for the set up. He made a move like he was about to break away to the side to redirect Iqbal's attention from the way he was currently biting down very hard on his tongue. By the time his attention was back on Cyrus' face, there were tears pricking at his eyes.

His tongue was swelling already, lending a slight stammering, thick quality to his words as he spoke. "M-my sister," he said. Iqbal was a man with a family, the right sentiment would work wonders on him. "She's very…" no, poor word choice, it was too impersonal, "she's so sick." There, that was it. The pause, the change of phrasing, hesitant, unable to quite say what he wanted to, just the proper reaction from a worried older brother. It was enough to make Iqbal loosen his grip on Cyrus's shirt.

"My mother works all day as a washer woman but we were only barely scraping by before she got sick and after I had to stop working to stay home and care for Raisa…" He slouched as much as his current position would allow, let everything about him sag under the weight of responsibility. "We can't pay for a doctor or medicine and we were desperate…we couldn't just let her…" his voice trailed off and his breathing became a measured sort of ragged. Iqbal patted his shoulder in a show of sympathy.

When Cyrus decided that the dramatic pause had gone on for long enough, he said, "We didn't mean to…I didn't want to hurt anybody. I just painted a ring and it wasn't…it's not going to be enough." He slid down against the wall, biting his tongue again to keep the tears flowing. He didn't need a redirect this time around, his state alone was enough of one. He hoped it would be over quickly, it would be unfortunate if he missed that appointment.

"I'm sorry about your sister," Iqbal said, kneeling down alongside Cyrus.

"No, I should be sorry. First I cheated you and now I'm burdening you with my troubles. Please sir, I don't deserve it, but have mercy on me. Not for me, but for Raisa, we can't afford to repay you and if I…if I go to prison my…my mother will lose her job and…" he said, burying his face in his hands. "Oh gods, I…I've made such a mess of things."

"Young man," he said, his tone considerably less angry than it was before. If Cyrus were actually in need of consolation, that tone would actually do the trick. "You've done something very wrong, but it was for a good reason. If any of my children were in danger, I would do whatever it took to keep them safe. For that, I can forgive you."

"Thank you," he said, so quiet he could barely hear it himself. "I don't deserve it, but thank you." He silently prayed for the man to leave soon, there was blood pooling under his tongue and he wasn't sure he could keep the act convincing for very long.

"Do you promise not to do it again?" Cyrus nodded, looking back up at him. He had no intention to get tangled up with counterfeit jewelry again, it left too much of a trail. "Alright. Then go home and here," Iqbal took his hand and pressed into his palm a handful of coins. Cyrus could only stare dumbfounded as the unexpected windfall, "for your sister."

"Thank you. Your kindness and generosity knows no bounds. How can I ever repay you?"

"Take care of your Raisa," he said, patting him on the shoulder again. "And if that money does not go to her, I will know about it." If he had a daric for every time he'd heard that or something similar, he'd never have to work a day in his life.

"Don't worry," he said, clutching that unexpected blessing tight. The look on his face was one of genuine surprise and ecstasy. It wasn't every day he'd parted a man from his money a second time. "This is going to help so much."

"Good," he said as he stood up and started to leave. Cyrus didn't realize he was holding his breath until the other man left the alley. Cyrus stayed sitting against the wall for a few moments longer, then scrambled to his feet and ducked into another alley in order to figure out the best way to get to the north gate in time.

It was one of the busiest times at the market, but if he hadn't had to deal with that detour he could have made it before the crowds became too thick to travel through quickly. Instead, it looked like rooftops were the best course of action. There was a ladder leading up to a roof garden, his ticket to enough money to pay off the camel racing fiasco and then some. He had to thank whatever god had dominion over this sort of thing for the close packed houses and he had to thank Taj for teaching him that this could be an excellent way to get across the city quickly.

Not that he would. Taj had been getting rather sanctimonious as of late and would no longer approve of Cyrus' trips across the roof tops, claiming that they were irresponsible and only good as a means to wind up with a broken neck. His older brother's worries were pointless; Cyrus had never so much as stumbled upon the roofs. The worst thing that had ever happened was that a friend of his mother caught him leaping over one of her oregano beds. Although that was a truly traumatic experience and he was not eager to ever repeat that so avoiding the houses of people he knew was a necessity.

He was making good time today, the students wouldn't be there until three, he would have just enough time to rough himself up a bit in an attempt to garner a little extra sympathy. He scrambled down the ladder nearest the north gate, thinking of the best way to handle this, when upon reaching the lower rungs, he felt a pair of his hands on his shoulders for the second time today.

"Gods not again," he thought, feeling himself twirled across the alley and slammed into a wall all over again. This time though, it was not the face of an angry guard or former mark he saw. It was even worse.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Taj was the last person he wanted to see right now.

"Nothing. I'm not doing anything. Why must you always think I'm up to something brother?" It was probably not Cyrus' best idea ever to lie now, but it was not in his nature to just straight up admit to it.

"Shideh tells me that you were chatting up a group of students in the market earlier. What were you planning to do, take them for what little they have?" he said. Cyrus glanced to the end of the alley, he could see the students showing up now, sheltered, gullible young men and women with no idea they were dealing with. By the time they'd reached the University in Larsa, they'd be considerably poorer, they'd suspect each other, and they'd never see the traveler who accompanied them again.

"You're going to believe your girlfriend over me?" he said.

"She doesn't lie to me as you do. And she doesn't drag Rafi into these crazy schemes. Don't tell me you don't, he told me you asked him to be a plant at that ridiculous shell game," he said. For the man who showed him how to run the shell game, Taj had a strange aversion to it. And it wasn't as if he was forcing their brother into anything, Cyrus just asked if he wanted to tag along and he always did. "It's bad enough that you're risking your own neck, I can't let you risk anyone else's, let alone our little brother's."

"There's no risk!" he insisted. There wasn't. He was too quick palming the pebble to get caught at it. "And I'm not forcing him to do anything. Let me go."

"So you can just ruin other people's lives? When are you going to grow up Cyrus? You can't do this forever?" He didn't need to do it forever, just for long enough to live a comfortable life.

"The money that I make is helping our family!"

"When it goes to our family. We haven't seen anything from you in weeks because everything you make gets recycled into another one of your schemes."

"Schemes that you taught me," he said, shoving Taj away from him.

"I taught you the shell game, it was only ever just a party trick, and I regret it more than anything I've ever done in my life because you took it and ran with it and the next thing I know, I'm claiming that I have no idea who you are when somebody you cheated shows up at the door." His eyebrows furrowed in a familiar look of anger and worry.

That look was enough to make Cyrus glance back at the students rather than hold eye contact. If Taj would just let him go, he could just blend in with them and leave, get out of the house for a few days. He loved his brothers and mother more than anything, but arguments like these were becoming more frequent. If he left for a few days, everything would calm down and the tension would be gone by the time he came back.

"It's only cheating if I get caught, and I'm here, listening to you, instead of rotting in prison."

"And for that I am eternally grateful. But you're luck's going to run out one day." From the looks of things, it already had. "I did some stupid things when I was younger, but I grew out of it. You're smart, talented, and you're wasting it. If I thought it was just the money you were after, I'd talk to my boss." Taj had been dropping hints that the illustrious doctor he was studying under was looking for a new clerk for weeks. "But you're just doing it to show off."

"I am not. I'm…gods really?" He looked back to the gate, everybody was gone.

"You should take it as a sign." A sign he should have gone to the next rooftop. "Come on, let's go home. Rafi's shift should be ending soon." Another reminder that even the youngest could hold down a job.

"Fine," he said, shrugging. He knew there would be no point to continuing this fight here. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder."

"I only wish I could believe you," he said as they walked out into the streets. Cyrus took no offense to that. He knew that he had lied to Taj often enough to warrant his suspicion. That didn't mean that it didn't hurt.

"It would insult your intelligence if you did," he said. "Tell you what, I'll buy the two of you drinks." The money he'd gotten earlier would cover a peace offering.

"Do I want to know where you got the money for that?"

"It was a gift. Honest," he said. The best lies always had an element of truth to them. "I promise, no tricks. Just taking my brothers out."

"Good," he said, one of his eyebrows rising in a manner that indicated that he did not believe any of it. "And Cyrus, what happened to your face? Is that blood?"

"It's nothing, bit my tongue, that's all," he said, feeling just under his lower lip.

"Other side," he said, gesturing to the blood drops.

"Thanks," he said, wiping them away.

After unsuccessfully trying to talk his brother into a more direct route to the market place and the crowd fighting that followed, they found Rafi helping to close down the bookseller's stall. They waited for a few minutes, helped out with a few of the smaller chores to speed up the process, before heading over to the tavern.

There was a group of men playing cards at one of the center tables. For a moment, Cyrus glanced at them. They weren't regulars and looked as though they'd already had a few drinks, could probably be taken easily. Then he shook his head and decided against it. He'd promised no tricks.

"Here," he said, passing his brothers the money. "You handle the drinks, I'll find us a table."

He looked around for a moment, there was an open table in the back corner, he would have to walk by the card game, but he would ignore it. It wasn't as if the dealer was sloppy or the man playing north was bleeding badly. He was with his brothers and he'd promised no tricks.

Then he noticed one of them scratching at his wrist before placing a large bet. Such an obvious tell and nobody at the table noticed. It was far too tempting.

"This looks like fun," he said, taking a seat at the card table, an innocent smile on his face. "How do you play?" The looks that passed between the men were enough to let him know that they'd taken the bait. It was true what they said. There was a sucker born every minute.


End file.
